


Keep Me In Your Back Pocket

by nomad1328



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, F/M, Gen, Hurt Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomad1328/pseuds/nomad1328
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not paranoia. This is reality. People can and will hurt them any way they can and the suit is too cumbersome and always too far away when he needs it. He can't immediately rectify the consequences of perceived chaos, but he can attempt to navigate and redesign the intricate patterns that lead to tragedy. All the information is there.  He has the means to prevent damage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The police will tell him that there was nothing he could've done. They’ll stand there with hands on their belts and shake their heads while their radios crackle with ten codes.  They’ll jot down a few words on some form report strapped to a clipboard and tell him this is a bad area.  That he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That it was just a bunch of assholes who happened to get lucky and get the right guy. None of their formulaic condolences will change the fact that Tony’s stuff is gone and he’s bleeding on the side of the road in Little Italy.

Someone helps him off the street.  His arm slung around a thin waist, Tony’s head doesn’t even reach the man’s chest.  Someone has replaced his knees with silly putty, but his rescuer’s dark, hairless arms keep him from falling.  Tony is too busy holding his hand to his bleeding face to look up or even mutter an embarrassed thanks. The man says he can't stay, but the cops are coming.  He's sorry Tony got messed up and he’s definitely sorry about the car because it was a fucking amazing ride.  It's a little rough out here sometimes. If you're not careful.

Tony can already feel his face puffing up.  Something feels loose in his side and he can feel the damaged tissue tightening as it fills with blood.  Taking a deep breath seems out of the question, so he doesn't move too much. Just holds his face and waits in the thick summer night until there are a few red and blue lights coming amidst the stream of yellow.

“Oh hell, it's Tony Stark,” is the first thing he hears the cop say as they approach him with their hands out.

There’s a woman speaking somewhere off to his right side and he catches the word “Iron Man,” and then there’s a sort of throaty chuckle.

“Yeah, whatever, guess he forgot his suit.”

Tony knows he won’t forget that one for a long time.

Chill bumps crawl up into the crevices of his legs and arms despite the heat and Tony shivers once, twice, and thinks there must be a cold front moving in. Maybe that could be, but he’s also dripping sweat under his blazer. There’s a strange urge to lie down on the sidewalk, curl up, but he pushes it back and gets to his feet as two more cops approach. Bile rises to the edge of his throat and his knees are still wobbly but they hold.  He swallows the nausea and focuses on a yellow marking on the road ten feet away.  The chills subside. “I'm fine,” he says. “Could use a ride though.”

A young blonde cop, the beginnings of a beer belly emerging over his utility belt, puts a hand on Tony's shoulder. “Yeah, you're pretty messed up, man. You're gonna need some stitches.” He points towards Tony's face. “What happened?”

Another cop tries to press a gauze pad to his head, but Tony takes it from him, fighting to keep the tremble in his hands under control. He presses it against his face once and is impressed with how much blood is already on it when he pulls it away.

“Uh... some guys took my car. I have a tracker on it. I just need to get back to my place.”

“They take anything else?”

Tony reaches a hand  into his pockets and that's when he realizes that everything else is gone. He can feel the concrete through his socks. “Yes. Everything, actually.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tony Stark was never the wimpy kid, but he was never the scrappy fighter either.  It was just that not even the toughest bullies would mess with a kid that had backup with guns.  

Tony never knew much about them.  They were suits with thick necks and military buzzcuts, and sunglasses for eyes.  Sandwiched between his mother and father, he’d look at the black trouser-clad legs, knowing four more were behind them. All were armed and trained,  personally employed and vetted by Howard Stark. Tony’s father called them by name sometimes. “John, meet us at the door; Buster, have the car ready at seven,” but they all looked the same to Tony.  They were the people in the front and the back, keeping them safe.

At MIT, things were a little different. The bodyguards were assigned to Tony specifically and gave up their suits for sweatshirts and jeans to stand in the dark corner of frat house parties where most of the attendees were underage. When the campus police showed up, they hustled Tony out the back and to his private dorm room, making sure he didn’t pass out and choke on his own vomit. Funny thing about bodyguards - as impersonal as they made themselves out to be, they were the most personal acquaintances that Tony had ever had. They were nearly family, always around because it was their responsibility.

Pepper asks him what it was like - growing up rich and sheltered and one day he’s in a weird mood and he doesn’t just say it was fine.  Instead, he sighs and says: “Lots of benefits, but not really any friends.”  

“It must’ve been strange, being so young and being so far from your parents.”

He feels her hand against his bare back, her nails lightly scraping the skin on his shoulder..  “I paid to make sure they stayed away.”

Tony lives in the present and the future.  He builds on the past, but beyond that, talking about yesterday is moot.  But Pepper is curious and Tony is a pushover for her.

“It was Rhodey’s idea. He was so freaking paranoid that one of my bodyguards would rat us out for being belligerent drunks and that my dad would have him kicked out or arrested.  Can’t say I blame him.  I would’ve gotten a slap on the wrist, but he was eighteen. I told him I’d take care of it.”

“You bribed your bodyguards?”

“Thoroughly.”

“So you had Rhodey.  He was your friend.”

“Yeah. He was the only guy who was brave enough to hang out with me I think. But ya know, in some weird way, the bodyguards were sort of friendish.  I mean... they did stuff for me like all the time.”

“You were paying them.”

“Yep. But at no time did I ask them to buy me condoms.  And I most certainly did not ask them to take Claudia back to her room.”  He feels Pepper’s nails press a little harder in his back at that one.  

“Oh my God, you were fifteen!  There is something so wrong...”

“Sixteen. And she was on a college visitation.  Stop it with the hate.”  

He tells Pepper about other things.  About how hard he had to schmooze the guards to get them to buy booze the first time.  About how most of the time it was all about paying them extra to pick up pizzas and Jolt Cola and materials for his lab projects.  And about how after they took Claudia to her room, a couple of the guards wrestled Tony out of bed, playfully slapping him upside the head, and gave him a bottle of expensive whiskey, which they all drank until sunrise.  “I trusted them,” he says at last.  “No one ever got a piece of me because of them.”

What he doesn’t say is that the guards were the only ones besides Obadiah Stane he knew at his parents' funerals. Most of them shook his hand that day, muttered a condolence or just patted him on the shoulder, said “Sorry, kid,” and left him alone. Tony didn’t have to bribe Obie to buy him drinks that night.

Tony always had someone else making sure he didn’t die - parents, guards, Obie, even Rhodey insulated him. “Wear this,” Rhodey said, as they’d walked towards the Humvees in Afghanistan.  Tony had waved off the bulky vest Rhodey held and patted his chest, barely feeling the slender nanotube protection underneath his shirt and tie.   “You look up body armor in five years, Rhodey, and I guarantee you’ll see a photo of this baby. Wave of the future. And I can look presentable for the general.”  Tony had plenty of failed products and ideas, but he counted the vest as one of the worst.

The weapons, on the other hand, were the epitome of genius. Tony had created and tested hundreds of them - everything from handguns small enough to fit into a front pocket to intercontinental missiles.  But when it came time to defend his own life, he'd been nearly helpless. Combat defense, fight strategy, how to deflect a right hook - these were things bodyguards practiced, not CEO's, and certainly not engineers. Getting pummeled in that cave motivated him. Originally intended to be a solo defense and escape module, the Iron Man suit also worked amazingly well on the offense. Tony had become a self-made god when he'd built the suit.  He could let the humans fire their puny weapons at him while he mocked them and then killed them with a single wave of his hand.

It's ingenuity that brought him the Iron Man suit and it's ingenuity that will protect him. Jarvis calculated the odds of surviving the shrapnel wound as approximately one in three, even if he'd remained very very still for the rest of his life. So, sure - Fate, luck, God, whatever - had a pretty big role for those first few weeks.  But the reactor that Tony built with his bare hands and a few scraps gave him his life. He can take whatever blows that anyone will give and keep coming back again and again until he's won every battle and killed every enemy. Tony Stark is nearly invincible.

Sometime between sequestering himself in the shop to make Iron Man and announcing that he was said persona, Tony had let his cadre of bodyguards kick loose. Having them around felt extraneous, but Tony didn’t realize he’d literally let his guard down until they started quitting.

One day,  he stopped by Pepper’s office after she’d dumped a pile of neglected mail on his desk.  There had been two resignation letters in there, personally addressed to him. “Pepper, did this...” He looked down at the name on the first letter, “Chuck Sparro - did he say anything?  Why are both of these guys leaving?”  She shrugged in that way that he knew was protecting him in some way and said she had a lot of things to do. So he held her shoulders and forced her gaze.

“Left.  They left two weeks ago. You’ve lost ten personal bodyguards in the past two months.”  

Tony had been taken aback and dropped his hands. “But... why?”  

Pepper had used his own tactic and put her hands on his shoulders. “Don’t make a big deal out of this, but you are... well... Iron Man.”  She’d said it with just a hint of distaste, like she knew that it was a stroke to his ego that she’d wanted to avoid.  “They think you’ve got it handled.”

After that, he’d taken control of the situation.  They were sort of right, after all.  Weren’t they? He was Iron Man. Tony had three guards transferred to the factory outside of LA to do security. He found three more of them jobs outside of the company. Two were assigned full time to the house gates and Tony occasionally offered some of the security guards from the sites a chance to reign in belligerent party guests.

Tony made it a point to ask Happy to stick around - mostly for the fact that the guy was a top notch driver and could nearly outpace Tony in a road race. Hell, Happy probably could beat him, but Tony always took the faster car and Happy took the one that was heavy with armor.

Tonight, after Happy dropped him outside the doors to the condo, Tony told him he could take the rest of the night off.  Happy shrugged and said "Sure, boss" and drove away. Five years ago, Happy wouldn’t have known how to respond. He probably would’ve stood at the front door, waiting for Tony to change his mind or for the next shift to arrive.  Things are different now.

Pepper was gone tonight - something about an old girlfriend from Columbia.  Tony didn’t mind. He had fifteen new ideas for reducing power consumption on the suit and he'd barely had any time to work on it since arriving in New York. Tonight was supposed to be the night.  For three hours, he bent over the schematics and tinkered with wiring, but then his stomach rumbled and his left eye twitched. He needed a break, some air. He needed takeout. Pizza. Little Italy was a quick jaunt away and there was this place he'd been to once, back before Iron Man. Obie had taken him there years ago.

“Jarvis, is there a place called Manny's in Little Italy? Killer slices? Maybe around Mott and Spring?”

“There are no restaurants called Manny's in that vicinity, sir.”

Tony sighed, started the car, put down the top, pushed it into gear and out onto the streets of Manhattan. “Okay. How about this - find me the best pizza joint in Little Italy that's open. And map it.”

“Right away sir.”

Within seconds, a HUD map appeared in the bottom quarter of the windshield, telling him that the estimated arrival time was 9:12pm at a place called Sandy's. Not very Italian, Tony thought. But the parameters that he's set up within Jarvis's systems are infallible. The system isn't spontaneous, but it is knowledgeable.  

The last time he looked at the clock it was 9:08pm. The light turned green, but there were two guns - one to his right and another pointed at his face and he was frozen to the spot for a half second before newly developed instincts kicked in and he grabbed the gun to his left, put his palm up to the gun to his right. There were no second thoughts, no time to remember that he wasn’t wearing a suit that could stop bullets. He felt the warm metal against his left palm and it should’ve been easy to bend the barrel, but it didn’t budge. Nothing at all happened at his right, but there was something that sounded like a muffled chortle. Nothing worked as it should. “Jarvis...”

Before Jarvis can answer, Tony’s left fingers were turned back and the space between his right eye and his ear was smashed hard. Blurred orange lights cascaded above him as he was dragged headfirst from the car, his feet scrambling for purchase on the pavement.  Laid out beside his car, he reached for his phone, but a boot landed somewhere near his liver and he couldn’t breathe or see as hands pawed all over him, reaching into his pockets, pulling at his feet. Everything was upside down and inside out.  He barely registered the sound of the tires screeching as they drove away.

When the ambulance arrives, Tony lets them properly tend to his face. The cops do everything he expected. His face won’t stop bleeding and the only robot that's gotten proficient at stitching flesh is back in Malibu, so he rides to the hospital in the back of the ambulance because the cops won’t take him. He shrugs off the lingering pain in his side, telling the doctor he's fine.  He gets eight stitches on his cheek, a splint for his fingers that aren’t quite broken, and calls the main line to his office because it's the only phone number he's memorized and Jarvis's stoic voice is the only one he wants to hear.  The AI answers, tells him the car is on lockdown a mile away from where it was taken, and pages one of the guards from the office to pick up Tony at the hospital.

His name is Jack. Tony had no idea. He's seen the guy a thousand times but he doesn't know which name to use when he comes into the ER bay where Tony is holding an ice pack to his cheek. Jack  holds up a pair of sneakers. He somehow senses the struggle and gives Tony a reprieve when the 'thanks' trails into a lingering silence. “Jack. Jack Morris.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

Unlike the days of his father, Jack wears black cargos and some sort of tech shirt that Tony is sure hides fourteen different weapons and a bluetooth headset. His Stark Industries badge, hanging off a lanyard advertising _The Few - The Proud_ ,  is tucked into his t-shirt pocket. His hair is high and tight - probably the same cut as he’d gotten at Parris Island when Tony was still at MIT.

“Ready to go, sir?”

“Yep.”

Jack stands in the doorway, looking outwards as Tony struggles to finish tying his shoes and slowly gets to his feet. He's sore as hell already.  It’ll get worse for two days before it gets better, but the Vicodin the nurse had given him ten minutes ago should be making it’s presence known very very soon.

Jack walks him straight up to the entrance of the condo but doesn't come through the door. He asks if Tony needs anything else, and waits until the boss throws the deadbolt to walk away. Tony slumps against the door and goes to the bar, blatantly ignores the warning on the Vicodin bottle, and pours himself the Scotch that he'd intended hours ago. It's nearing midnight and still no sign of Pepper. She might've called.

“Jarvis, anyone call me?”

“Ms. Potts called approximately an hour ago, sir. She will be arriving at approximately 12:30am.”

“Where's my stuff, Jarvis?”

“Your vehicle is currently on a tow truck traveling northeast on 1st Avenue from E 5th Street. I also have coordinates for your cellular phone, Sir. As for your watch and boots...”

Tony cuts in. “Who called the truck?”

“Sir, it appears that your vehicle has been recovered by the police.” A screen to Tony's right comes alive and shows video of a police officer entering the vehicle  and sitting in the front seat. He quickly reaches over and shifts through the glove box, takes something out, then exits the vehicle.

Tony smirks. Take that assholes. He'll watch the full replay later but imagines the scene now: the car turning itself off after a mile, the perpetrators exiting to figure out the problem and the car automatically locking itself down, loudly refusing entry to any and all access points unless the individual was carrying a local police frequency radio. “Cool stuff. Looks like the antitheft device was a success.”

“Yes sir. Well done.”

“Thank you, Jarvis. Now....uh hunh..” Tony pauses, flipping through screens until he gets to his cell phone. The GPS locator map pops up and shows it stationary in the middle of the Bronx. The phone also has antitheft programming and  it will no longer work for anyone but Tony. However, he'd like to retrieve this piece of proprietary machinery.

When the door opens, he can’t help it.  It seems like every muscle in his body contracts at once and he finds himself on his feet. The reaction surprises him.  He’s never been prone to panic. His heart hammering, sweat spontaneously breaking out on his brow and under his arms, he sits back down with a wince and mutters a “Hi, honey,” to Pepper, who doesn't seem to notice his misplaced reaction.

She's definitely buzzed. She wobbles as she lifts each foot to remove her heels and tells him something about how New York City is far too expensive to be regularly drunk. A hundred dollars on cabs between all the places she and her friends had gone. He mutters a few "uh huhs" and half listens to her recounting the high drama of middle age working moms out on a Manhattan girls night. Tony only notices that she's stopped talking when she's standing in front of him with a her brow cocked and a hand on her hip.

Tony minimizes the screens with his palms and looks up to face her. It strikes him suddenly, watching her struggle with the heels, half drunk, that she came back alone. All by herself she came here. Walking from the bar to the cab, taking a cab, walking from the cab, across the street maybe, and into the building in the middle of Manhattan.. All alone in Christian Louboutin pumps and a Louis Vuitton that had cost him over two grand. Everyone knows who she is, what she is to him. He frowns, then stands.

“What...?” Pepper stands closer and fingers the neckline of his t-shirt. He looks down, noticing the blood on his collar. He'd meant to clean up, but he's been busy looking for his stuff for the past thirty minutes so he hadn't quite gotten there.

“Little accident.” He turns, moving towards the bathroom.  The Scotch-Vicodin combo feels amazing, but it’s dampening his anger control and he doesn’t want to fight because rationally, he knows this whole thing  is nothing.  Or it should be nothing. “I meant to shower- before you got here. Sorry, I uh-, I...”

“You went to the hospital?”  Her voice rises in that soft concerned way that is halfway between calling him an idiot and pulling his head to her shoulder.  Tony winces.  She isn’t his mother and he doesn’t want one. But it's not her fault - she’s concerned.  He’s endured enough injuries around her that he should be used to this tone, but it still urges him to recoil, to shrug her off, grab a drink, say “I’m fine.”  

He drops the hand he'd been holding up and fingers the bracelet still on his left wrist. “Uh... yeah.  Just - I needed stitches and  my robots are at the house and...”

Tony turns, faces Pepper for a moment, frowning. “Wanna come with?” He points to the bathroom.

“I don't understand. Did something...” She motions towards the back, where the Iron Man suit is under lock and key. She doesn't answer his question. He'd said it out of habit anyway. He needs the space.

“Nope.”

Tony shuts the door behind him, turns on the water as soon as he can reach it.

********  
  


The moment he opens the door to the bathroom, steam flooding into the condo, she’s talking.“The police have _recovered_ your car.” Pepper doesn't look up from the couch. She's sitting with a tablet balanced on her knees, tapping the screen sporadically and holding a glass of red wine in the other hand.

Tony lifts the towel draped around his neck and runs it through his hair once more before tossing it back towards the bathroom. There isn't much more he can do or say now that she's gotten the gist of it.. He wonders how much they told her and curses himself for telling Jarvis to turn off the speakers in the bathroom.

He shivers a little as he moves towards the bedroom.  Someone has definitely cranked the air conditioner to the uncomfortable level. But curling up in blankets next to a fireplace seems like a better idea than sitting next to the pool. Tony settles for going to his closet. “Did you tell them I'll get it tomorrow?”

“I sent Gus down.” The lights automatically turn on within the closet as Tony enters. Gus? He struggles into some loose fitting sweats and a t-shirt. Where was Gus earlier when the car was taken? Where was Happy?   He should’ve been more careful, should’ve been prepared. God, is he complacent?  Reliant on some image of him being the tough guy in a metal suit- too tough to fuck with?  He’s not all that tough. The metal can dent; with the right projectile force, it can puncture.  The shock of a blast is still a shock. And all of that is assuming that he’s actually wearing the suit because if he isn’t.... Tony grabs at a hoody and rips it from the hanger. It clangs against the wall and lands on the carpeted floor with a soft thud. “Did you hear me?” Pepper is suddenly standing at the doorway, still holding a glass of wine.

“Yeah. Yep. Good,” Tony mutters, moving towards the doorway, hoping Pepper will take the hint and move out of the way. She doesn't.

“Did you have the doctor look at that?” She leans an elbow on the door's molding, blocking him in.

He looks down at his side, where a half circle of red is starting to tinge with purple.

“It’s fine.” He puts his hands on Peppers shoulders, looks her square in the eyes, and gently pushes her backwards.

She acquiesces easily enough, but he feels her eyes boring into him as he moves into the center of the room. He wishes they were back in Malibu, in his house, where he could go to his shop and lock her out for a little while, where there are four levels, a pool, stairs, and countless places to retreat. He’s barricaded in New York.  He barely has room to stretch his legs and as much as his body wants to rest, his mind is on overdrive, his nerves on end. To hell with it. He doesn’t need his own energy to run the suit.  He heads for the door out to the living space and then further back towards the vault where he keeps it. Pepper is still watching him.  It bothers him that she's standing there, that she watches with her arms crossed as he takes off from the balcony, but he isn't sure what else he would rather see her doing.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Pepper doesn't wait up. But neither does she sleep well. She feels like her eyes are opened, watching everything for most of the night, though she recognizes, eventually, that there are minutes or hours of actual sleep that keep interrupting her rational thought process. This is the way it usually is with Tony, but she's known from the start that this was the price. Usually it's because he's out in the suit, trying something new, or even fighting the bad guys, but tonight feels different. Tonight feels less like a mission and more like a crusade. 

Tony, though a public figure, is a private man when it comes to reasoning out his motivations. There's usually some widely acceptable statement borne out of years of experience dealing with public perception. Stop the weapons program. Why? They were getting to the wrong hands. Easy enough. But Pepper knows that statement was just the tip of the iceberg. 

When he'd come back from Afghanistan, there was no question that Tony was different. She barely saw him once he was home. She’d been busy dealing with the fallout of his return and he'd sequestered himself in his lab for over a month. For a guy that could hardly stay in one place for a half day, it was unusual. Even more unusual was that was that Pepper hadn't had to escort any girls out of the house. Pepper could only assume that Tony was just trying to recover his physical health. Or that his vanity was wrecking havoc on his libido - maybe having a chunk of metal sitting in his chest made him self-conscious. Maybe he didn’t want anyone to know. Rhodey had been the one to tell her about the gravity of the injury and the Arc reactor. Tony had elaborated later, spewing out technical details that he knew would cause her eyes to glaze. But he never talked about what they did to him. 

His mood in the shop was the real clincher. Before, the workshop was for tinkering, for making things because he could or he was bored. Sure, there had been a few breakthroughs down there that had carried over into real moneymakers for the company, but the workshop was primarily Tony’s playpen. Afterwards, there was a seriousness, a darkness about the shop which hadn't been apparent before. Suddenly, the work there wasn’t just for playtime. Tony made it seem like no big deal.

One day, he buzzed her as she was walking through the door at 7am, asking her to bring down the bag of coffee because he’d just run out. Tony, unshaved, unwashed, and wearing clothes that looked days old, had taken the bag from her and made the coffee himself, asking her if she wanted any. Pepper had stood with her arms folded, surveying pieces of projects and equipment sprawled on various tables. The couch in the corner had a few pillows and a blanket thrown on top. The coffee table was littered with empty take-out containers.

“Everything okay?.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good. Busy.”

Pepper had nodded, not quite sure if she should leave or try to pry him out of the workshop.

“The stock dropped again.”

“Uh huh.” He poured two cups and handed her one, despite the fact that she’d refused his earlier offer. “Bagel?” She shook her head. He shrugged and put the two halves into the toaster. 

“It’s just that you’re spending a lot of time down here and if you need to talk...”

Tony had cocked an eyebrow and waved off that topic with one hand. She watched as he stood over a table full of machine parts and something that looked suspiciously like boots. “Obie said to lay low. I’m just...working out the kinks, you know? A mind without motion and all.... _that_. Like art therapy... or something.” It turned out that the project was much more than therapy. It was revenge. 

When Tony came back from his first mission as Iron Man, he'd been hesitant to reveal where he'd been or why. He claimed it was for her own good, that she'd either find out soon or she wouldn't. It was Tony's idea of _need to know_. But then, while she'd been wrapping an ice pack around his shoulder and prodding him to at least call a doctor, he'd told her about the man who had saved his life, about the promise that Tony had made to him. She’d seen Tony in plenty of embarrassing and awkward personal situations, but there was no precedent for Tony revealing something emotional and she'd had to work hard to maintain the professional distance she needed. Professional distance is no issue now. She's been naked next to him in bed when he's awoken, gasping, clutching at his chest, and pushing her away until the morning when she finds him awake and animated, as if nothing had ever happened. 

Tonight is like that. Like him pushing her away in the middle of the night. It’s as if talking about it will make it something other than a bad dream.. It took months of trial and grievous error, but she'd learned that solitude and distraction were what he needed most and she forced herself to allow him space for recovery. Anything less results in angry, defensive confrontation that ends badly for both sides. She trusts that one day, he'll tell her more. He just needs time. She hopes.

Pepper dreams of dark caves, fiery blasts, and shards of metal encroaching on Tony's heart. When she wakes, she’s still tired, but it’s daylight and she smells coffee, onions, mushrooms, and melting cheese coming from the kitchen. There is a radio playing so softly that she can't distinguish the tune. Tony, freshly showered , tie tucked into his shirt, hands her a plate and a steaming cup of coffee, and sits across from her with his own plate. 

She looks up at him, grimacing. The bruise on his face enhances the weariness under his eyes. He hasn't slept. “Thank you,” she says. “This is... unexpected.” 

He lets go of a breath and his shoulders fall. “That bad huh?” 

Tony puts his fork down, rests his jaw on his palm. He looks green suddenly and she knows he won’t eat. “Yes,” Pepper responds, digging into her own plate of food. 

“What do you think about going back to Malibu?” 

“Today?”

“Tomorrow.” 

“We still have the meeting with Gentech on Wednesday. We can’t...”  
“We’ll do it on videoconference.”

“Tony, we're going over blueprints, this is your building.” 

“I know, I just...” He stands, taking his plate, dumping the contents into the sink with a clatter. Pepper jolts for a moment, quiets the urge to go to him, continues eating. This is business. This is dealing with a finicky, childish company owner. “I’m bored here and I want my stuff and it’s all in...”

“Tony...”

“I need to get back. There's fourteen different projects that are falling by the wayside and I can't work here...”

“Tony, will you just...” Pepper stops, resisting the urge to make any comment that isn't strictly business. She’ll be professional about this. He’ll resist anything else right now. She takes a breath, and a sip of her coffee, then puts her hands flat on the table. “I have to finish up the proposal for Buckley today and I’ll try to move up our appointment with Gentech. Maybe they can get us in early tomorrow and we can leave tomorrow night.”

“Fine. Good. Do it.”

He kisses the side of her mouth when she leaves and turns away from the door before she can look him in the eye.


	4. Chapter 4

This is not paranoia. This is reality. People can and will hurt them any way they can and the suit is too cumbersome and always too far away when he needs it. He can't immediately rectify the consequences of perceived chaos, but he can attempt to navigate and redesign the intricate patterns that lead to tragedy. All the information is there. He has the means to prevent damage.

Tony listens for the door to shut. He thumbs through the contact list on his recently reacquired phone. The number is already on speed dial. He taps once and listens as it connects. Tony speaks before the the recipient can ask what he needs. 

“She's leaving now.” He pauses and listens.. “By herself. She'll be in the E500. And I'll be ready in ten.”

As he hangs up, his stomach churns. He rubs a hand across his forehead and sighs. She’s going to hate him, but it’s for her own good. 

Retrieving his phone last night had been a cinch. The GPS locator made mission planning easy. The Iron Man suit made the perpetrators drop all resistance and they’d willingly given him his phone and his boots. The Rolex, it turned out, had already been sold. Afterwards, he’d dropped onto the deck of the condo and made a difficult decision. Working through each potential outcome, he could find only one that worked: give Pepper her own bodyguards. Don’t tell her. 

His people would do anything for him, including covertly following his girlfriend. If he’d just asked her, she would’ve laughed at him, said ‘no way,’ and walked out the door before he could get in two more words. She already calls him paranoid and makes cracks about dosing his cereal with Xanax. He has no choice but to do it this way. On the other hand, if she finds out, the threat of dosing his cereal may become a reality.

When Tony emerges from the condo, four men in suits and with coiled wires in their ears are waiting outside the door. He walks amidst them to the cars parked outside. Two file into the Suburban and the other two enter the Bentley, where Happy is already sitting at the wheel. The Mark V is in the trunk, tucked away, and only slightly inaccessible. If push comes to shove, he can fold down the center armrest and get to the trunk in a matter of seconds.

It’s so much better this way, Tony thinks, stretching his legs in the back seat, sipping Scotch, watching the world pass from within a bulletproof cocoon. He can see more clearly if he doesn't have to focus on the obstacles ahead. That's what being wealthy is all about isn't it? Spending the money on luxury so there's more time to create, to be productive without worrying about banal existence. Neither he nor Pepper should have to worry about navigating rush hour, grocery store checkout lines, or random acts of violence. They both have better things to do.

Traffic is a bitch. Happy navigates without a word, expertly maneuvering them in and out of slower moving vehicles, around obstructions, through the city. Tony has a meeting at ten and he'll get there with just enough time to spare.

The light ahead flips red and the car halts in the stream. There are a few horns, a cyclist whizzes by them towards the front. A moped creeps up, barely missing scraping the side of the Bentley with its side mirrors. A few horns blare and Tony sips his drink, allowing the warm scotch to sooth all the way down. Suddenly a shadow appears at Tony's left, quickly moving up towards the front of the car, arms waving. There’s no time for second guessing. The glass Tony is holding is nearly empty, but ice cubes spill onto the carpet as he drops the glass to reach for the armrest, yanking it down and exposing the trunk access panel.

There's a hand on his, holding him back from his only chance. His arm is held down on the leather upholstery and he struggles, panicked, but the man next him is stronger. They must be in it together. His enemies will always try to find a way. He won't let it happen. Not now. Not when everything in his life is right.

“Sir? Sir! It’s fine. It’s nothing! Calm down!” The guy next to him is yelling, holding tight to his hands and shaking him out of the white noise in his head. 

Tony looks up into the rearview mirror, meeting his driver’s concerned glance. It isn’t concern directed towards the guy approaching the car; it’s concern directed at Tony. Happy motions towards his left side, waving someone off. A guy cleaning windshields makes his way towards the front of the line of cars. There is no threat, just a guy wanting to make a quick buck. 

Tony squints, blinking, and realizes that the hands holding him are releasing. He sits back. The man on his right hands him the glass he'd dropped on the floor and, as an afterthought, the bottle of Scotch from the console. Without a second glance at Tony, the guard closes the trunk access panel, then puts his hands on his knees and looks straight ahead. 

Tony’s heart is pounding so hard that he’s pretty sure that it’s going to throw the metal casing out of his chest. The effort to slow his breath is monumental. The effort to stop the tremor in his hands unsuccessful. 

 

The day has been hectic, to say the least, and Pepper is ready to go home. Her feet ache from running around in the heels all day and the tension headache would be unbearable except for the ibuprofen that she'd slipped in an hour ago. New York has been too hot the past few days, too humid, and too oppressive. Everywhere she goes, regardless of the time of day, is gray. Gray buildings, gray sidewalks, gray roads, and gray walls. Even the water that surrounds Manhattan is gray. She prefers the rich blue of the Pacific. 

Somehow, Malibu seems safer. It's certainly not. In New York, she and Tony are the closest to anonymous that famous people can be. Their condo is full of rich executives and daily news makers. The crowds in Manhattan hide their identities. No one looks you in the eye here. As long as they avoid standing still, no one truly sees Pepper Potts and Tony Stark. In Malibu, the opposite is true. Tony's house is enormous, a well-known outcropping that people point at from yachts two hundred yards out. The town is small enough to be comfortable with the a few rich and famous people walking around, yet it never fails that some tourist notices and asks for an autograph. Everyone knows their cars (Tony has made sure they're difficult to miss), their house, their faces. 

The commute back to the condo takes Pepper longer than expected. There are two fender benders within two blocks, drivers hurling obscenities at each other as everyone else tries to squeeze by. The blocked lanes bottleneck traffic to the left and Pepper squeezes in between two cabs. As she checks her rearview mirror, she notices something that looks suspiciously like one of Happy's cars behind her, trying to outmaneuver hurried drivers and get ahead. The car would fit into every other car in New York City except that it has a customized plate and deeply tinted windows. Pepper is sure that the first half of the plate matches the one she remembers from their fleet. Maybe Tony is also on his way back.

Pepper hits the voice dial on her phone. "Call Tony." 

When he answers, she can hear the television. "Are you home?" 

"Uh, yeah. Just got here," he says. He sounds distracted, uneasy. It's not surprising. After last night, he should be distracted. She's still not sure exactly what's happened. She's gathered the basic premise from the call about the car and the injuries, but no one has bothered her with the details. She knows better than to expect them from Tony. 

"How are you feeling?"

There's a pause on the other end, as if he's shifting uncomfortably around the subject. "Fine. I'm good."

"Are you icing?"

"Yep. Got it covered."

"Want me to bring you anything?"

"I'm almost out of Scotch." He backtracks. "Forget it. I'll get Maya to make a run. Just come home." 

"I'm on my way. I thought you might be behind me."

There's a distinctive pause on the other end of the line, as if he isn’t sure what to say. The last time she’d checked, Tony’s mouth doesn’t have a pause button. Moments when other people would shut up are Tony’s moments of endless babble. "Uh.” He pauses again. Maybe he’s working.“Nope. I'm here. Home sweet home. Home in New York. What do you want for dinner?" 

Pepper isn't hungry. She tells Tony that anything will do, that they'll talk about it when she gets home, but she gets the impression he isn't really listening because when she says that she'll see him soon, he responds with "I think we should stay in." She murmurs an "okay, honey." He tells her that he’ll see her soon and she ends the call on his terms, looking behind her to see if Happy's car is still behind her. It is. It's directly behind her now and she can see that it isn't Happy driving, but that it's definitely one of the fleet. 

When Pepper opens the door to the condo, she can't help but notice Tony's shoulders hitching as she shuts the door. His head leans back over the back of the couch and she goes to him, meeting his lips with her own in a somewhat awkward upside down position. He tastes like Scotch. There's a glass on the table, half full still, and he wasn't lying about needing to make a liquor store run. The bottle sitting next to the glass is nearly empty. 

She leans over his shoulders, cradling his head for a moment and examining him. The bruise on his face has turned nearly black and the eye on that side is bloodshot. There’s something in his face that tells her that everything is not okay, that something is terribly wrong, but she can't pinpoint what, exactly, that is. She begins to figure it out hours later, when they're getting ready for bed. 

He has his back to her, taking his watch off, and she has the sudden urge to go to him, wrap her arms around him, so she does. She's used to the hard metal in his chest, but she's not used to metal on his right hip. She backs away as his shoulders tense and he turns. 

"Pepper, don't be angry." At those words, she knows that she will be. She backs away, crossing her arms and waiting. He sighs and reaches for his hip, pulling out a sleek black handgun. "It's just for protection."

"You've got fourteen bodyguards for protection, Tony. You've got the Iron Man suit for protection. You really need to carry that? In the house?" The last part is the real clincher. If he carries a gun on the street, it's one thing. Pepper is not naive enough to believe there's no reason for Tony to carry a gun. But they've been at the condo for hours. 

“You don't understand." He turns, placing the gun on the dresser and laying fists on the surface. His eyes are downward, refusing to meet her in the mirror. 

Pepper does understand. She understands that the need for control is driving Tony further and further down the path to pathological paranoia. She understands that his paranoia is working it's way towards being just as dangerous as real threats. She studies him for a moment, watching the rise and fall of his shoulders. He's still tensed, awaiting a response she's yet to formulate. She could leave him to his deal with things on his own. She could offer him an ultimatum. She could call Agent Coulson, or Rhodey, or the shrink she'd seen after her father died. But it's late. She's tired. 

Pepper brings down her arms, resolved. She puts them around Tony's waist, and with her chin against his shoulder, she feels him finally relax and curses herself for giving in.


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing he does when he’s back in the Malibu house is to beef up security. Happy’s contacts in the business come in handy and within three days, he has five more guys at his disposal. The next thing Tony does is add a firing range with two lanes to the space next to the workshop. He has lanes where target distance is variable. In another section, there are pop up targets controlled by Jarvis. He buys thousands of bullets and builds three guns. 

After developing the Iron Man suit, Tony never thought he’d resort to simple guns, but here he is, firing round after round into paper targets in the basement of his house. The handguns are his favorite. They’re tiny, but pack a wallop, and he has to work to keep his hand steady when they fire. Happy refers him to a friend, the best shot in the business, a former commando who can fire anything and hit everything. Vick stands behind him on the range every other day for two hours while Tony fires over and over, his shoulders and neck sore every day. 

“Square up your shoulders, this isn’t the movies,” he says, pulling on Tony’s left side. “Loosen up your stance, like you’re on the court, this is a sport.” Tony gets better and better, firing handguns, shotguns, even assault rifles. He learns to handle the guns, to fire, to react (or not) to appropriate targets. Vick trains him, then tests him. 

Tony also rebuilds the gym that he and Rhodey had nearly destroyed in their fight and hires a personal trainer and a fight coach. He spends two hours a day learning self defense and two more hours practicing mixed martial arts. He lifts weights, he runs until his knees ache. 

Being busy makes his life so much easier. He gets up early, he stays up late. He doesn’t notice when he’s tired and he doesn’t notice when stock prices fall or when the weather sucks, because there are things to build and things to perfect. When he’s not shooting or working out, he’s redesigning the suit for maximal mobility. 

At first, Pepper seems annoyed. She starts to appear behind him, jolting him out of the zone and throwing his shot wide, telling him that dinner is on it’s way and then dumping a plate down next to his computers when he fails to show up in the dining room. She goes to him late in the evenings, asking if he’s coming to bed, huffing away with her arms crossed when he doesn’t look up as he mutters “later.” 

A month goes by, and Tony gives her a handgun when she comes down to the range and they start to eat dinner together in the workshop. It’s comforting having her there, acting like it’s the most normal thing in the world to eat dinner in a workshop surrounded by Iron Man prototypes and robots and holograms. She laughs when she hits targets square in the chest five times in a row, making a hole as big as a fist in the paper. Tony congratulates her, tells her she should carry one of the handguns in her purse, and he’s disappointed every day that she leaves the gun at the range. 

She continues to go to the office every day, and he listens (occasionally) when she gives him updates or tells him to sign something. Tony doesn’t have the time to leave the house so he rarely does. He has nearly everything he needs and he pays someone to get the rest. The only thing he doesn't do is pay someone to test the modifications he's made to the suit. And that's what he's doing when Happy calls him. 

He's spent four hours in the air and he's turning back when the call comes in. The sun is on the horizon and he's flying with it on his right, headed for home, nearly skimming the water. The scenery is perfect and for the first time in months, Tony feels good and thinks that he really should take Pepper out for dinner, or least have something catered. A little fresh air might be nice. When Happy's photo appears on the HUD, Tony smiles. 

"Just the guy I was thinking about. I need a favor."

"Sir, I'm really _really_ sorry..." Tony feels a lump forming in his throat. He doesn't have to ask any questions; Happy keeps talking. "It was one of my newer guys, he thought he saw something. He was trying to get her out of the way. Jesus, Tony, he was really trying to do something good, but you know how she is. She's stubborn, she won't listen. "

Tony hits the thrusters a little harder. "Where is she?"

"She left the office two minutes ago. Just before I called."

"Is anyone with her?"

"Christ, sir, no. She confronted me. She knows we've been following her. And I'm pretty sure she called you a paranoid freakazoid while cursing the loins of your great great great grandfather."

Tony can see how cursing the Stark lineage might make sense. His genes - or maybe his upbringing - make him a miserable failure at just about anything that doesn’t have to do with strictly sex or math. However, Tony does know about bribery, even if it just takes the form of dinner and roses. He has to pay a lot of money to get everything in order before she makes it home. By the time she’s due, wine is on the table, he's got three different bottles of massage oil laid out next to the sauna, and he's practiced an apology in the mirror. “Honey, I’m sorry I had to you followed. I only wanted to protect you.” When she drives in, he's pacing the garage and trying to avoid pricking himself with the rose in his hand. 

Before she even gets out of the car, she's glaring. When he starts to speak, she throws a hand up, turns her back, and walks towards the stairway. He tries to follow, but she stops him, tells him that if he takes one more step, she'll pack her bags and leave tonight. He dumps the rose on the dining room table and he spends fifteen minutes pacing the room before he can't stand the smell of whatever is in the oven and moves to the lab. He tinkers, he peruses, he drinks four fingers of Scotch, and then she's there in front of him. 

He swivels in his chair to face her, hands clasped in his lap like he’s twelve and just gotten caught cheating on an exam. She's changed into jeans and flats and all of her makeup is gone. She’s calmer, but her arms are crossed. 

“Tony...”

“Listen, I know that...” They’re talking at the same time. 

She cuts him off. “Tony. Shut. Up.” The tone of her voice somehow commands him to silence. He knows this is his one chance to not get dumped, so he remains silent. 

There’s a pause and she looks at the ceiling for a moment, then back towards him. And then it all comes out. Something about how hard life is, something about stress and panic and paranoia. A strange lump forms in his stomach as she throws out words like Torture. Assaulted. And she talks about that thing in his chest and Iron Man and Afghanistan and the car. He was expecting a lecture, not a therapy session. The Scotch he's consumed threatens to make a second appearance as the words remind him of the things that he doesn't admit to himself. She's laying it all out for him, giving him the opportunity to nod his head and concede that yes, horrible things happen, that he was helpless to prevent them. But Tony doesn't dare. There are ways to fix everything. Ways to prevent anything. He stares at his hands, lets his nails bite into the meat of his palms, waiting for her to say that she's packing her things tomorrow, that she can't stand his insanity anymore. Pepper skips over that part. She talks about luck and free will and the all-encompassing _one day at a time,_ and moves closer to him. He hates all of it. 

Pepper talks a lot, but not as much as Tony. He’s the conversation winner, the guy who has the ultimate last word. He’s losing this time. Tony isn't sure whether it's the subject matter she's discussing, or the cat has literally chewed off his tongue, but he stays silent, hearing only some of what she's saying. He knows she's wrong. Having the knowledge comes with responsibility: given the option, he must act. And that's all he's been doing - trying to protect himself and Pepper. It’s probably never enough. She can’t understand this burden. 

When Pepper stops talking, he barely notices. His ears are ringing. Pepper steps closer and he brings his eyes level with her waist. He can smell her soap, the fresh scent of her lotion. She pulls his head until his cheek rests against her stomach and all he can do is whisper "I’m sorry” against her shirt. And then, minutes, maybe an hour later, when his hands are starting to cramp against the hem of her shirt, he speaks. 

“Pepper, there’s....” He starts. The words catch in his throat. Here, in front of her, listening to her pour through every fear he’s ever had, has left him exposed. There are no guards here. No one standing in front of him to take the brunt of attack. The easy comfortable sheltering is all gone and he’s an insect on a glass pane, waiting to be smashed. “I can’t protect us both.”

“You don’t have to.” 

“Let me. Please let me try. I need you because I...” He nearly chokes. “People want to hurt us, Pepper. I couldn’t bear it if you....” 

Pepper misinterprets. “I’m not going anywhere, Tony. I just need you to... to...” She falters for a moment. “I need you to tell me when you get... mugged, okay?”

After everything else she’s said, getting _mugged_ seems almost light-hearted. Tony pulls away, cocks his head to the side. “Is that the only thing you want to know? Because it doesn’t really happen all that often.”

Pepper smiles. _Shit._ “I know.”

He turns in early, feeling so sick he’s sure he’s come down with the flu. He listens as Pepper gives quiet directions to the housekeeper and a grocery list for tomorrow. He’s halfway to sleep when she wraps herself around his back, her fingers pressing into his chest, softly as they sleep, harder when he jerks awake tasting copper on his tongue. 

In the morning, he’s resolved. He lifts her arm and places it on the bed as he sets her alarm for a half hour later. He fries omelets, makes coffee with a French press. When she leaves, he follows her to the door, kisses her on the lips, and then goes to the workshop.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge huge thanks to my beta, [ joe_pike_junior (ArmchairElvis)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmchairElvis), for getting me back into the swing of things and (re)educating me on writing. It's been far too long.


End file.
